In Sickness & In Health
by Basched
Summary: Becker has the flu.


_Author's Note: Again, another story I wrote ages ago but forgot to post here. This was written for a friend who wasn't feeling well at the time. Not beta'd. Do enjoy mind. This was also written before I had seen Primeval:New World. _

* * *

There wasn't anything else he could do.

Becker had been taken off the mission and he hated it.

While Matt had gone to assist Cross and the rest of his team, Becker was stuck in his room feeling wretched. He was very rarely ill. The only time he took sick leave was when he'd been injured on duty, not because of the damned bloody flu.

Wrapped up in half a dozen blankets, shivering and snorting into tissues, Becker huddled on the sofa in front of the fire and wished he could have gone with the others. He was missing out on the fun because of this stupid sickness. It wasn't how he'd expected this trip to Canada to turn out.

He felt terrible. He couldn't get comfortable, he couldn't stop sneezing. The running mucus dripping from his nose pissed him off, the hacking cough was tearing his throat raw and because of the constant wiping, the end of his nose was now sore and blistering. He hadn't shaved and the damned stubble was making him itch. His feet were cold and several layers of socks weren't helping. He felt physically weak, he couldn't muster any energy to get up but when he needed it… when the call for the lavatory beckoned him, all Becker could do was fall off the sofa and crawl to the bathroom.

He hated being ill.

He hated being so weak and useless.

But what he hated more was the way Matt treated him.

After many hours had gone by, Matt finally called in and found Becker slumped on the floor, curled up beneath all the blankets. He was so damned bright and cheerful, he was beyond excited as he babbled on about the mission and how great the Canadian ARC teams were and Becker knew he was doing it on purpose. Rubbing it all in.

"I swear if Weir hadn't got that shot in, I think we could have been in some serious trouble!" Matt stepped over him and put on the kettle. He then walked back, stepped over Becker again, his foot accidently—yeah right—caught Becker's leg and turned on the television. "Connor was right, they're a great bunch. It's such a pity you missed out on all the fun, Becker. You would have loved it."

Becker uttered some choice phrases of spite and hate that were rendered incomprehensible because of his bunged up speech and the muffled blankets, before hacking up some phlegm with some quite nasty coughs. Through itching and hurting eyes, Becker saw Matt's grimace with disgust.

"Gross."

"It's becob I'm sig you fugging gid!"

Matt laughed.

"Fugging gid, huh? What's that mean then?"

"Did I ebber menshod whad a shid you are?"

"I'm a shit? You tell me that every day. It's so lovely to know how much you think of me."

"Fug you."

Matt laughed again and stepped over Becker to get to the kitchen. He left Becker there still moaning on the floor whilst he made whatever it was for himself. Becker moaned. He used the last of his strength to sit up and lean against the wall. He sneezed several times and groaned some more as a dizzying haze overwhelmed him.

Was it too much for Matt to help him without that smug look upon his face? Could he for once not take the mickey and be a little considerate? Could he at least do what he was supposed to do?

Becker really was sick. This was Matt Anderson he was talking about. Matt was going to torment him.

"Brig it on, you sadid." Becker saw through his blurring haze, Matt sitting down opposite him, nursing a warm mug of…was it coffee? Tea? Becker couldn't smell anything, not with his bunged up nasal passages.

"Are you calling me a sadist?" Matt smirked and gave his head a little scratch. He sipped on his beverage and sighed. "When I came down with the chicken pox? What did you do?"

"Huh?"

"_What_ did you do?"

"Ah."

Okay. So purposely scratching in front of someone who was not supposed to had been a little cruel and so had connecting all the spots on his back with pen. It had just been so amusing to see a man of Matt's age cope with a childhood ailment.

Matt was dishing out some payback then. As usual. As it always was with them.

"So you're goib to mabe me subber?" Becker blew his nose and the sound made both men cringe.

Matt even flinched when Becker threw the snot rag at him. "Oh you'll suffer. Especially after I've told you all about the mission!"

"Nob realleeb."

"Oh yes you will. Because I know you Hilary Becker…" Becker hissed seething hate at Matt for using his first name. "I know that you hate being ill and missing out on the missions. So I'm going to tell you everything! And did you know Weir was exceptional! I think she does a better job than you do!"

"You fugging fugging arseholbe!"

* * *

Becker woke suddenly. He bolted up and it made his head spin.

He fell back and realised he was in bed, on a comfortable mattress and with several pillows. There was a funny but soothing smell on the pillows that permeated through his stuffed up nose and it was making him feel a lot better.

On the table by the bed there was a mug of something steamy and when he leaned down to take a whiff, there was the faint aroma of honey and lemon. An actual real log fire was warming the room and clean sheets and blankets covered him. He had been washed and shaved and Becker felt really refreshed.

There were several boxes of tissues by the mug and a waste paper bin with a note attached to it stood by the bed. Becker rubbed his eyes and read the note.

_"Put your bloody snot rags in here."_

Becker smiled and then a long run of sneezes followed gave him a splitting headache.

When everything cleared, he felt a weight sink onto the bed next to him and a cool refreshing hand touched his forehead. Another held out a tissue for him.

Becker took it and blew.

"You gob me here?" Becker asked, leaning into Matt. Instantly Becker felt Matt's arm coil around his shoulders and pull him closer.

"No. The magical fairies got you here."

"Fug you."

Matt's laugh was beginning to annoy him.

"No thanks, not in your condition. Look, drink the drink, rest and concentrate on getting better. Okay?"

He wanted him to stay, he wanted to fall asleep with Matt as his pillow but Becker wasn't going to ask. No way would he mention it, because he would be mocked. So he closed his eyes and hoped that Matt would remain here of his own accord.

It didn't happen. Just as Becker was about to lull into slumber, he was jarred awake when Matt moved.

"Right. Sorry, I have to go. Dylan wants me to test the new weapons with her."

The new ones? The ones that Becker himself had so badly wanted to try out? The newly modified EMDs that he and Matt had worked on?

He couldn't stop the upset whine from escaping his mouth.

Matt laughed.

"It's not my fault you're sick. I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

Bastard. The utter, utter bastard.

* * *

The night was worse.

Sleep was broken. His dreams were vivid but twisted nightmares of his memories which kept him shaking and trembling, breaking him out into cold shivering sweats that left him nauseated. His throat and chest burned with every cough he produced and it frustrated him. It angered him.

It seemed like every half an hour Becker was waking up, screaming from his nightmares or hacking up his lungs and sneezing.

God he was so tired. He was physically drained and felt like death.

Why did he have to be sick now? Why after so many years of never coming down with sickness did it have to be now? It was supposed to be a happy occasion, he was supposed to be enjoying himself.

Was it too much to ask of his body for it to allow him some sleep?

Becker sank back down into his bed and tried to close his eyes. He couldn't get comfortable, so his legs and arms flayed out tangling the sheets around him. Eventually he drifted off to sleep, but it wasn't peaceful or restful.

Then he heard the door open. He was too tired to move or turn, but Becker knew it was Matt. He heard rustling, the thump of boots as they hit the floor, he heard the sound of Matt undressing before Becker felt the weight of him on the bed.

Then he felt Matt spoon against his back, draping his arm around him and gently rubbing his warm feet over Becker's freezing ones. Matt nestled his face into the crook of Becker's neck and there was a wonderful caress of his mouth against his skin.

Becker jolted. He panicked.

What the hell was Matt doing?!

"Will you settle down?" Matt snapped. "Sleep, you daft idiot."

"Bud…!"

"No buts. If I catch what you've got, then I catch it. It's not much of a holiday if we can't spend some time together. I'm sorry I left you here."

"Yeah well…. you're a fugging idiod!"

"Maybe I am. Now shut the fug up and go to sleep."

He did and with Matt there, it was the best sleep he had had since he'd come down with this flu.

* * *

The door shut behind him and when he turned round, there was the happy couple huddled together on the sofa in front of the fire.

"Well. I can see why Evan called me. The pair of you look like crap!"

Two scowling faces peeked out from underneath the blankets and glared evilly at Connor. Then Becker and Matt erupted into a succession of sneezes that had Connor backed up against the door. When they finished, the coughing started so he edged around the room and set the medicines and supplies on the kitchen counter.

It was when the hacking and horrible phlegmy sounds started that Connor really had to leave, but he paused and looked back at his friends one last time.

"Guys… I'm sorry your honeymoon has turned out like it has." Connor smiled as Becker slumped over, his head resting in Matt's lap. "It's awful bad luck. Really. But congratulations all the same and get well soon, okay? I'll let you know what they say about your modified EMDS, yeah?"

"Fug off!" chorused the two men.

Connor got the gist.


End file.
